Log entry: Cycle: 8002-127 I have spent most of this period reviewing the logs of our ancestors in preparation for the briefing. Mine is not to criticize world policy; however, the highly secretive nature of this, as well as previous missions to New Earth, will make it that much more difficult to convince the other humans aboard of the reality and urgency involved. But they are a fine crew and are accustomed to following orders. I feel the same will be true in this case, regardless of any conflict with their preconceived worldviews. The other-worlders aboard are well aware of the mission and its urgency. Their involvement in this type of mission has long preceded our own. They have been instructed not to telepathically convey any details of the mission until after the briefing. Thus far, they have been true to this directive. I am certain I would have known were it otherwise. Freddy would know if anyone had been prematurely informed and certainly would have advised me of the situation. He has proven himself a worthy asset to this mission, as he has aboard many previous ones. He can be trusted. End log entry. Nothing follows. Commander Eli Bertram
Commander Bertram hit the “send” button and the message sped off through space. He turned toward the panoramic view panel of his cabin aboard the Ark II as if he were able to watch the message as it darted toward Earth Control. The scene was as breathtaking as it had been so many cycles earlier, when he had first stood face to face with its indescribable vastness and majesty. Earth hung silently like a glistening, blue marble lazily drifting in an endless sea of darkness. Bertram shifted his glance to the left where the scene changed to a myriad of stars like pinpoints of light in some gigantic, black tapestry. It was a tapestry that could only have been woven by the hand of God Himself. “The briefing,” the thought exploded into his mind and instantly brought him back to his present situation. Bertram jumped and turned to the doorway. “Freddy!” he exclaimed. “You startled the hell out of me!” The diminutive, light gray-skinned being, measuring slightly more than one meter, stood sheepishly in the doorway without expression. The huge, unblinking, almond-shaped, black eyes, set low in his bulbous head, glistened in the light of Bertram’s quarters. His spindly arms hung straight down to the knees of his spindly legs. A delicate web separated each of his four fingers with tiny suction cup-like folds of skin on the tips. “Yes sir,” Freddy conveyed telepathically. “The briefing,” he repeated matter-of-factly. “Yes. The briefing,” Bertram grunted as he ran a hand through his thick blond hair, urged his nearly two meter frame out of the swivel chair and joined Freddy at the doorway. He was clad in a one-piece, white coverall uniform cinched at the waist by a wide, black belt. Only one insignia adorned it, as did all members of the Intergalactic Alliance – a small white circle bearing a black equilateral triangle. The color of his garment denoted the fact that he was the one in charge. The commander’s height and muscular torso made Freddy appear that much punier by comparison. “You go make sure that all personnel are present and accounted for and I’ll . . .” “Humans only?” Freddy interrupted. “Yes, Freddy,” Bertram confirmed with a slight twinkle in his deep blue eyes, “humans only . . . and I’ll get some equipment to aide in my presentation.” “I can retrieve the equipment if you would like,” the commander’s ever-dutiful aide suggested. “That’s all right, Freddy. I’ll get it. I need you to make sure that everyone is in the briefing area – humans only, that is.” “Yes sir,” Freddy responded mentally. He spun around in his best military fashion and hurried off down the long, curving corridor. Commander Bertram turned in the opposite direction and walked from his quarters to the lift that took him up to a waiting tram. There were fourteen trams aboard the Ark II but this one was restricted to the commander’s use only. When any of the other crewmembers needed to move about the gigantic space-borne disk, they could damn well wait until it had made its rounds and returned to their area. When Eli Bertram needed to move about the ship, it was imperative that transportation was readily accessible. Rank has its privileges. Bertram exited the lift, entered the single-car tram and the door automatically slid shut behind him. “Destination please?” a friendly female voice prompted. “Level three – security data archives.” “Thank you, Commander.” A faint blue glow encompassed the entire tram as it rose slightly off its bed. A low drone could be heard as a mild vibration permeated his body. It wasn’t painful or even uncomfortable. It was just that same disconcerting feeling that he had never gotten used to and had resigned himself to the fact that he never would. Instantly, the surroundings outside of the tram sped by at a dizzying speed as it made the arc halfway around the circumference of the craft. Bertram’s body remained stationary as if the tram was standing still and the ship was rotating around him. The tram stopped on a dime and shot up one level, coming to an abrupt halt. “Level three security data archives,” the disembodied voice informed, and the tram door slid open. Bertram stepped out and turned to his right where a security door awaited him. There was a small, silver box on the wall next to the door with a single red button, slots for two-way communication and a small, round, clear glass eyepiece in it. He stepped up to the box and pressed the button. “Identify please,” the same pleasant voice that haunted the tram inquired. “Commander Eli Bertram,” he said distinctly and a circular light, surrounding the eyepiece, illuminated.
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